Pulling The Trigger
by eeniemeenie
Summary: And, suddenly, it all became too much- too much to handle. Dylington, a bit of Massington.


**I was trying to fall asleep last night, and this just came to me. I almost made it Massington, but I didn't want it to make it ~too~ AU. **

**And don't complain about Dylington, if you don't like it. 'Cause neither do I, yet I'm somehow writing this ..**

**Pulling **_the_Trigger

_{murderer at 6}_

"No, _way_, Derr! Eveeeeryone knows that Groovy Girls are ten _zillion_ times better than stupid Transformers!" a six-year-old Dylan Marvil wrinkled her nose, unkempt, shoulder-length hair swaying as she shook her head madly.

Derrick Harrington laughed aloud at the thought. "Transformers can _transform_, though! A-a-and Gr-_ew_-vy Girls can do what- change into ugly, pinky, frilly clothes? Booo-ring!" He faked a yawn at the thought.

"Oh NO you didn't!" Dylan exclaimed, barely able to keep herself from miming the hand movements. "You're sooo dead!" she exclaimed, and, grabbing a random doll, started to pummel Derrick's Optimus Prime, while Derrick snickered in the background.

"There!" Dylan gave up, and, "discreetly" knocking over the toy with her bare hands, turned around to stick out her tongue at Derrick. "He's dead now," she said simply, wiping her hands on one another, as if trying to get dust off of them.

And, naive at the young age of six, she didn't fully understand death- didn't understand the sadness, the grief. To her, it was more of a game- not a big deal, nothing that she'd have to experience firsthand.

Or, so she thought.

_{a third wheel at 13}_

It was disgusting, really. Sickening.

To see her two best friends- one of them, her first and, as of yet, only love, all over each other.

She told Massie she was over him- that he was a dirt bag, not worth her time. That she liked Plovert, now, and, as if to prove it to everyone, she put up a front- obsessing over him, and she was pretty damn sure that it was getting on everyone's nerves.

But, at the moment, it was the only option.

Because he didn't like her- she seriously doubted he ever would. No, he had Massie, and, while she resented the two as a whole, she couldn't find herself to be angry. They were happy- and even though she was miserable, she would sacrifice her happiness for them- but more Derrick, then her.

And, anyways, what's the point of chasing after a guy that's madly in love with your best friend?

And, watching the duo pull in for the kiss, she wanted nothing more than to turn around- anything, to get away, not to see them kiss- for then, she was positive that she truly would break down.

And yet, as much as she wanted to, she just couldn't- and she stayed rooted to the spot.

And as the soft, delicate snow fell once again upon Lake Placid, NY, a single frosty tear dripped down Dylan Marvil's cheek. And, although she wiped it aside quickly, and although it was almost miniscule, and although she denied it to herself, it was a tear- a heartbroken tear, nevertheless.

_{a lovebird at 15}_

"Hey." A low-pitched voice murmured behind Dylan, and, turning around in surprise, she let out a squeal.

"You came!" she exclaimed, tightly squeezing Derrick, her head resting upon his shoulder, face alight with happiness.

"I said I would, didn't I?" he responded, smiling.

"How'd you get in without a present?" Dylan frowned thoughtfully.

Derrick just grinned adorably, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Who said I don't have a present?" he inquired.

"But…"

"Close your eyes," Derrick instructed quickly, leaning back casually against the wall.

"Fine!" she huffed playfully. For a moment, Derrick waited- just to be annoying, before leaning in.

Dylan, realizing what was going on, widened her now open eyes for a moment, before setting her hands on his shoulder blades.

And so went their first kiss.

_{a wife at 21}_

"You may now kiss the bride." The minister announced, readjusting his glasses and giving Derrick a knowing look.

And kiss they did- for over a minute, sparks flew- mental fireworks went off, while the crowd looked on, until one unknown onlooker cleared his throat loudly, and it quickly ended.

And, facing the huge crowd gathered, the couple smiled brightly, and, after a moment, Derrick whispered into Dylan's ear.

"Together forever." He whispered softly.

"Forever," she agreed, practically glowing with happiness, tears threatening to spill any at any moment.

But everyone knows there's no such thing as forever.

_{as good as single at 23}_

"How could you?" Dylan screeched, voice echoing throughout the large manor- regardless to the fact that the one she was screaming at was directly in front of her.

"I-I just want to do something with my life, you know? And joining the army seemed like a pretty fucking good idea, since it's not like I'm smart enough to create a cure to brain cancer or whatever…" he muttered nervously.

"What about me- what about us?" she asked, still practically screaming. "We practically just got married!" she lowered her voice. "What, am I not good enough for you, now?"

"You know that isn't it, Dylan-" he began, but she cut her off.

"I don't wanna loose you." She muttered softly.

"You won't, Dyl. I promise. It'll only be four years- and then I'll be back, and we can have little Dylan juniors, and… I'll write to you every week, alright?" he bit his lip nervously.

"Promise?" she asked, also biting her lip worriedly.

"Promise," he declared.

_Even _you_ know promises are meant to be broken, D._

_{an alcoholic at 24}_

Not even a year later, it all got to be too much- Derrick was gone, she had no one to talk to, she didn't even have a job.

And she turned to the large stash of alcohol that they owned- meant for parties and get-togethers, but once Derrick left, it all seemed pointless, irrelevant.

And she knew that Derrick wouldn't approve- that, actually, he'd be quite disgusted if he saw her now.

But she couldn't find herself caring.

It wasn't that she didn't love him anymore- of course, she did- that's why it happened in the first place. But he couldn't see her, would never know, anyways.

And all she wanted was to forget everything- for the days to pass by in a blur, which was exactly what happened.

_{a widow at 25}_

It was Christmas Eve. And yet, instead of partying with friends, instead of celebrating it with family, she was alone, sitting on the couch, gulping down ice cream sundaes, and not really paying any attention to the TV.

And she stayed like that for an hour or two, tops- until the door bell rang.

And, excited against herself, she raced to the door to open it. Because, really, it was impossible for it to be Derrick. And yet, a part of her couldn't help but hope- and she was glad she had decided against drinking, tonight.

Only, when she opened it, her hopes were crushed. A man in camouflage was at the door, face somber.

And, mind racing, she could only think of one explanation. But that was impossible-

"I'm sorry to barge in on your Christmas, miss." He grunted. "But… this is about your husband. Derrick. I'm very sorry, ma'am, but he was killed in a roadside bombing. Along with twenty other men- a horrible loss." He paused. "Are you okay, miss?"

It was a silly question, really- why would someone ask that, right after they informed the person that the love of their life has been killed? Regardless, though, Dylan did look like a mess- her eyes were wide, hair tangled and knotty, and eyes glazed over, as if she was about to cry at any given second.

And, slamming the door on the man, impossible misery washed over her.

_{at peace at 25}_

The grief that surrounded her was impossible to explain- nothing seemed important anymore, nothing seemed worth her time. Suddenly, the cartoon seemed stupid and babyish, the ice cream sitting on the table disgusting and Dylan was positive that, if she ate one small bite of it, she'd merely throw it all up.

And she made her way up to her bedroom, unable to stop the tears that were shooting down- and, for once, not caring.

Suddenly, it all seemed too much- too much to handle, and, taking a Derrick's handgun from inside a shoebox, she raised it to her head.

Raised it to her head and pulled the trigger.

_{}{}{}{}_

... I think I'm gonna cry.

No, actually, I'm not, but that was pretty depressing- even for me.

Has anyone noticed that my stuff is always all morbid and depressing and… stuff?

I have.

I CANT HELP IT D:

Anyways.

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